


Never See the End

by CaptainLordAuditor



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F, Fenders, M/M, Modern AU, Murder Mystery, Past Domestic Violence, Trans Fenris, Trans Male Character, Trans Masculine Character, [jake peralta voice] guess who just got MURDERED!!, background hawke/merrill but mostly its fenders and cassiviene, fenris is fine now dont worry, misgendering in flashbacks though, past danarius/fenris - Freeform, present happiness (ish), the noncon in the warnings is all implied and in the past, trevelyan exists but she's 900 years dead, way too much worldbuilding for a measly little murder mystery honestly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-02-01 15:46:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12708018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainLordAuditor/pseuds/CaptainLordAuditor
Summary: When magic returned to Thedas, the Circles of Magi were recreated, restoring the Orlesian Orthodox Chantry to a portion of its former political relevance. But history has proven that the templars can't always be trusted, and with the Heraldic Church and the Dales refusing to create Circles, the Chantry has to step lightly.As a Seeker of Truth, it's Cassandra's job to investigate any suspicious deaths, disappearances or violent crimes that happen to mages under the jurisdiction of the Circles. Or at least, any the Chantry deems suspicious. And to think, it all started with a dead magister....





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I like world building.  
> I like mysteries.  
>  ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

_ Six years ago _

The bed was dressed in Nevarran cotton in a deep, shining black, sunlight streaming onto the sheets in from the vast window beside it. Not unusual, in this part of Minrathous; buildings faced the sun, filled with the most luxurious furnishings their owners could afford, of late done in a revival of the fashions of the 900s, with arched, open doorways and broad, dark cushions. In five years the apartments here would all look completely different; the fashion for the Dragon Age would be gone, and the owners would get rid of all but the most comfortable of furniture in exchange for the next fad. No, nothing about this room was unusual for this time and place, except its occupants.

The elf who lay on the bed was stretched out, his brown limbs taking a gold undertone in the sun. He turned, yawning, to look at the human beside him who was busy getting dressed.

“D’naruss?” his voice was slurred with sleep.

The man glanced down at his partner and finished with his tie before sitting beside him on the bed. “Good morning, Leto,” he said, tucking a strand of the elf’s long hair away from his face.

“Mm.” Leto leaned away from Danarius’ hand. “You’re working?”

“I’m about to.”

Leto nodded, closing his eyes again and trying not to think about his aching bruises, or Danarius’ hands on his face, or the sly smile his husband wore.  “D’you want anything first?” he was pretty sure he knew the answer.

Danarius leaned down and kissed Leto. Leto kissed him back, savoring the gentleness. Unless he was very lucky, it wouldn’t last. “Alas,” said Danarius, and kissed him again, “I am already dressed, but I’m sure we could find  _ something _ to do….” his mouth travelled across Leto’s jaw and down his neck. “Perhaps a quick-”

His phone rang. Danarius growled and climbed off the bed to answer it. “Hello? Yes, I know - excuse me, Leto - no, I don’t care.” he stepped away from Leto, turning his back. “We have dozens of possible subjects. If we need more, we can get them easily, just get it done.” he paused. “Just get them the same way you got the last ones. Just - no. None at all? Dammit.” he sighed. “Try again. Go younger. I don’t care if you use  _ children _ , we need to make this work. It worked nine hundred years ago, it worked for the Evanuris. There’s something I’m not seeing here. I just wish we had more of their records….”

Leto froze. What the hell was Danarius talking about?

“Wait. I’m coming in - we’ll talk in person. I’ll be right there to look it over myself.” He hung up and kissed Leto briefly. “I have to leave quickly, we’ll continue this later. I love you.”

Leto nodded and mumbled his response. His mind was occupied by the conversation he’d just overheard. If he understood that right…

Danarius was doing experiments on  _ people _ . Leto had always known Danarius’ company did questionable things in their research on magic, but he hadn’t known it was that bad. He thought about the conversation again, and how he’d met Danarius.

Leto had been 15, working as a janitor for Danarius’ company. He wondered if that was the way Danarius got his  _ subjects _ . What if Danarius hadn’t decided Leto was a good pick for someone to fuck, beat and manipulate? 

No. There was no telling where that train of thought led. Leto needed to do something, but he didn’t know what. Danarius had doubtless bought the guards. Who would even believe Leto? To everyone else, he was Danarius’ trophy wife. He would obviously be seen as trying to get rid of him for his wealth. Maybe there wasn’t anything Leto could do.

One thing was for sure, though. He needed to get out.

* * *

 

_ Today _

The girl stood outside the entrance to the library. She was small and elven, her hair tied back, quivering like a leaf in a storm. Donnic put her age at maybe 16, but that was a guess - he wasn’t good at telling with elves. She wore the plain dress of a servant, in the thin black fabric and style favored by Tevinter. She twisted her apron in her hands nervously, not meeting Donnic’s eye.

“You’re Orana?”

The girl nodded. “Yes, Guardsman.”

“And you found him?”

“Y-yes, Guardsman.” Donnic thought she might be making noise from her vibrations, she was trembling so hard.

“How did you find him?” he prompted.

“I - I was coming into the library, Guardsman. To tell him his supper was ready.”

“You cook for him, then?”

“Sometimes, Guardsman. Mostly I clean, but when he’s in Kirkwall he brings me to do his food and his clothing.”

Donnic nodded. “Go on then. You went to tell him his food was ready.”

“Yes. He’d gone in earlier to look something up and have a drink, Guardsman. He likes - liked - to have a drink before or after he ate. I rang the bell, but he didn’t show up, so I thought he might’ve gotten taken up in his research. He did that sometimes, Guardsman, and he didn’t like eating his supper cold, so I went to fetch him, and he was just lying there.” 

“And he was dead?”

Orana nodded.

“Did you see anything? Hear anything?”

“Only that the glass had broken, and his whiskey was spilled, Guardsman. I remember thinking I’d have to clean it up, and about how hard it would be to get the smell out, and then I saw his hand and….” Orana trailed off and took a deep breath. “I got frightened, and ran off to call the Guards.”

“It’s alright,” Donnic attempted to placate her. “When did you last see him alive?”

“Just two hours ago, Guardsman. He’d had a meeting with someone, but I don’t think it went very well. He came home and told me to start supper, and that he needed a drink and to look at his lawbooks.” Law books? That was odd. He hadn’t been a lawyer.

Had some aspect of his business gone wrong, and he’d been sued, or had charges pressed against him? Had he been having money troubles, perhaps? Or was he trying to see what he could get away with doing here in Kirkwall? Supposedly the guy was an upstanding Tevinter citizen, but that didn’t say much. Donnic didn’t know much about Tevinter, but he thought the laws on use of magic were… much looser in Tevinter than in the Marches. Maybe he’d wanted to see if he could be arrested for some spell he’d done that day.

Maybe.

He looked back at Orana. “What’s wrong?”

“I - I haven’t got anywhere to go, Guardsman. No family in Minrathous, no money to get there, and nothing here. I don’t know what I’ll do now.” Orana seemed on the verge of crying.

“Here.” Donnic searched his pockets and found what he was looking for - a scrap of paper with an address scribbled on it. “Tell Varric that Hendyr-Vallen sent you, and what happened. He’ll help just about anyone, and just for the joy of knowing new people. He’ll find you a job, if he doesn’t have an opening himself.”

Orana took it and fled.

* * *

 

_ Six years ago _

Leto pulled himself out of bed, his heart thumping, and leaned on the wall. What did he need? Clothes first. Something to hide the bruises. Make him blend in. He walked to the two closets, favoring his leg - he’d need the energy to hide it later. What the hell did he own that let him blend in?

Evening sarees, cocktail dresses, pencil skirts, stilettos in Leto’s closet. Suits, sherwani, button downs and derbies in Danarius’. None of those would fit Leto, either. Finally he pulled on a loose, long sleeved salwar kameez. If he could find a hat……

Danarius’ sunglasses would do for now. He wouldn’t get far without any resources. He didn’t know the combination to the safe, but looking through Danarius’ desk Leto was able to find a small stack of cash. Maybe two hundred tesserae. Leto took them and dumped out his purse of anything else - phone, wallet, anything Danarius might possibly have put a tracker on. 

As he was looking for a spot to hide his things his eyes fell on his jewelry box. Over the years, Danarius had given him hundreds of thousands of tessarae worth of necklaces, tikkas and bracelets. That box contained more money than Leto would find in the entire house in cash, and they wouldn’t need to be exchanged for other bills once he got out of Tevinter. Leto traded the contents of his purse with those of the jewelry box.

He opened the front door and almost ran into Hadriana. She was standing on the porch holding an envelope and when she saw Leto her expression changed from one of aloofness to utter disgust. “Where’s your husband?”

“He left. He said something came up at work.”

Hadriana sighed. “He wasn’t at the office.”

Leto reached somewhat blindly for the door frame to steady his shaking hand. “I don’t know. He might be at one of the laboratories.”

Hadriana rolled her eyes and shoved the envelope at Leto. Leto took it. “Just make sure he gets this.”

Leto nodded. “I’ll put it in his study.” he closed and locked the door, then went to Danarius’ office, but instead of setting the envelope down, he opened it, his hands shaking. Inside were two letters, one from one of Danarius’ underlings, the other from someone named Isabela.

_ D, _

_ C’s woman found out. Attached is her letter - it looks like we need a new source, or to call C. I doubt he’ll be happy when he finds out she’s refusing, but she may try to stop any shipments we get from the south. _

Leto set aside that one, hands shaking, to read the other.

_ Vitalis- _

_ Castillion didn’t tell me shit, but did you really think I wouldn’t find out? You should’ve told me upfront. Just know the Siren’s Call won’t be bringing you any more guinea pigs. I’d be happy to talk about it in person at the docks. _

_ -Captain Isabela _

On the back of the letter was an address. Leto put the letters back in the envelope and slipped that into his purse with the other things he needed.

He slipped out the back door, as casually as if he was going to the grocery store or the bank, and caught a bus to the open air market in the centre of Minrathous. It was huge, a place flocked to mostly by tourists, but some areas were still worth visiting for locals. Leto walked for a mile or so before buying a backpack and a sweatshirt from some of the vendors. 

He wove his way through Minrathous, stopping to buy several full changes of clothes - cheap converse, underwear, jeans. The market’s bathroom gave him a spot to change and dump his purse. His hair he tucked up under his hoodie.

The letter had solved his last major problem - a way out of the city. It was midmorning by the time he got to the address on the docks, and he hurried his step, hoping to get there before Danarius caught wind of his leaving. 

He found it relatively quickly; a battered vessel that looked like it might’ve originally been used for fishing. A Rivaini woman leaned against a post near it, smoking. Leto stopped, looking over the boat. He didn’t know anything about boats, but this wasn’t what he’d expected from a smuggler. Then again, that was probably the point.

The woman took a long drag on her cigarette, watching him. “Can I help you?”

Leto coughed, trying to find the courage to speak. “I’m looking for an Isabela?”

She smiled, an actual friendly - or was it flirtatious? - smile, something Leto hadn’t seen in a long time. “You’ve found her. Lucky timing, too - we’re heading out soon as the tide comes in. Few hours later and you’d have missed us.”

Leto pulled the envelope out of his backpack and held it out to her.

Isabela’s smile faded. “You work for Vitalis?”

Leto shook his head. “Not any more.”

“So you’re not here to deliver a message.”

Leto shook his head again.

“Pity, that. I had some things I’d like to say to him.” She looked him over again. “What’re you doing here then?”

Leto took a deep breath. “Your boat-”

“Ship,” she corrected sharply.

“Ship,” he said, “you can hide people on it. A person.”

Isabela looked at him again. “You want to get out of Tevinter. Can you pay?”

In answer, Leto pulled off his engagement ring, studded with emeralds, and tossed it to her.

She caught it, grinning. “Andraste’s tits, kid. How far?”

Leto let out a breath. “How far can you get me?”

She slid the ring onto one of the fingers of her right hand. It didn’t look out of place; she was adorned with several necklaces and bracelets and a few rings. Leto wondered how many of them were real - most of them looked real, but low quality - nothing like he had with him. “Last port is Kirkwall. We’ll be making stops at Llomerynn, Amaranthine, Ostwick - maybe Antiva City. Take about three weeks if you’re coming to Kirkwall.”

_ Kirkwall _ . That seemed far enough. Southern reaches of the Marches. Leto nodded. “Kirkwall.”

She nodded. “It’d be nice to have your name.” A name! He cast around for something, frantically free associating. Mistaking his unsurety for hesitation she added, “For this, I don’t need one, though.”

“Fenris,” he said after a moment.

Isabela smiled. “Welcome aboard, Fenris.”

* * *

 

_ Today _

Cassandra Pentaghast sighed. 

She didn’t want to deal with the Vints right now. She wanted to go home and have dinner with Vivienne and watch a movie and stay there.

She reached for the phone on her desk, thinking how nice it would be to have one date that didn’t get canceled this month, and dialed her wife’s number.

“Darling?” Cassandra could read longing in Vivienne’s voice. “You won’t be able to make it tonight, will you?”

“No,” she replied. “I’m afraid not. They want me on a flight that leaves at six.”

“Montsimmard?” flights within Orlais had much looser security than international ones.

“Kirkwall.”

She could feel her wife’s sigh, if not hear it. “Alright, dear. I’ll see you soon.”

Sometimes, Cassandra hated being a Seeker.


	2. Chapter 2

Cassandra rubbed her forehead.

Mr. Vitalis. _Magister_ Vitalis. Age fifty. Owned a research company specializing in biomagical technology. Married, wife missing for six years. Member of Tevinter Senate for two years.

He hadn’t been to the Marches since before his wife disappeared. There was no way he had political enemies here. Business ones? For the Tevinters, one went hand in hand with the other.

Biomagics. What had he been working on?

What had driven him to come south, now? She would check his schedule as soon as she got into Kirkwall - if he was meeting with someone, that would tell Cassandra why he was here.

_Who here wanted to kill him?_

Cassandra went back to Vitalis’s next of kin. Theoretically, it’d be his wife, but she was presumed dead. She had two siblings, father deceased, mother working class. If Mrs. Vitalis had been around, Cassandra would have wondered if she had killed him for the inheritance to take care of her family, but she was gone, and her family had no share in the will, and no way of getting from Minrathous to Kirkwall.

On Vitalis’s side, there was a cousin - _there_ was something. Maevaris Tilani was visiting Kirkwall.

Cassandra had expected to have to tell the next of kin of Vitalis’s death over letter or phone. Here she was getting a twofer - suspect and notification in one.

Now to see how Maevaris Tilani reacted to the news of Danarius Vitalis’ death.

___________________

_Fifteen years ago_

He thought that somewhere in the back of his head, this whole thing was a bad idea. Dating a human, one who was his _employer_ , seemed a situation ripe for disaster, but it was a small part of him that thought that, the part that sounded like his mother. The rest of him was conscious of the warmth against his cheek and the soft weight of the blankets. Danarius’ hand pulled him closer, banishing all thoughts of what could go wrong. Leto nestled into him, wrapping his arm around Danarius’ waist. “G’morning.”

Danarius smiled down at him. “You’re awake.”

“Mm-hm.” Leto breathed in, savoring the scent of his lover, then began to roll over towards his side of the bed to get off. “How much time d’we have before work?”

Danarius easily caught him with the arm he’d wrapped around Leto. “It’s Saturday.”

Mullified, Leto slid back into Danarius’ arms. “Good. My mom’s working today.” That meant she wouldn’t get upset about Leto sleeping over with Danarius. Not that she’d be very loud about it if she knew, but Leto would rather avoid it entirely.

Leto knew she didn’t like the idea of him dating a shemlen, but she never said anything. Leto thought she liked the stability Leto’s promotion from lowly janitor to secretary had brought them more than she disliked his relationship. He suspected if it was any other shemlen, especially one with such a difference in age from Fenris, she’d have been angrier, but he wasn’t sure if that was because of Danarius’ character.

________________

_Today_

The woman who opened the door was not Maevaris Tilani. Her ears were pointed, for one thing. When she saw Cassandra’s badge she turned over her shoulder to call something in Tevene, and another woman appeared out of one of the few doors in the open floorplan flat.

“Ashiris?” Maevaris Tilani wore a fine light blue sari over a navy choli. She said something else in Tevene, and Ashiris stepped aside to let Cassandra in.

Tilani gestured toward the door she’d just come through. “Seeker,” she greeted Cassandra, “Perhaps we should talk in my office. Would you like any refreshments?”

“No, thank you.”

Tilani nodded and stepped into the office. Cassandra followed.

The office was large, but not as large as Cassandra had expected, given the rest of the flat. Most of three of the walls were covered in bookcases filled with tomes in Tevene, Nevarran and Marcher alike, a mix of magical, historical, and law related texts, the fourth a floor-to-ceiling window. On the wall behind the desk hung a large painting done in Dalish style of an elven woman with white hair and golden vallaslin. Several potted northern plants were scattered around the room.

“I assume this isn’t a pleasure call, Seeker,” said Tilani. It was a question, even if she didn’t phrase it that way.

Cassandra closed the door. “I’m sorry. There’s no easy way to say this. Your cousin Danarius is dead.”

Tilani stared at her, her mouth open for a moment, then crossed her arms. “Well that makes things easier.”

Cassandra took a moment to process her reaction. She seemed surprised, although she’d recovered quickly. Cassandra’s file had said she was a lawyer - no doubt keeping control over displays of emotion was as much a part of that job as it was Cassandra’s.

Still…. That wasn’t the reaction she’d been expecting.

“You’ll have to elaborate.”

Tilani sat down on the armchair behind the desk. She gestured a hand at the chair in front of her, inviting Cassandra to sit down. “You’ll want to sit down. This is difficult to explain.”

Cassandra sat. Better to agree and get as much information as she could.

Tilani hesitated before beginning. “I’m a divorce lawyer,” she began.

Cassandra frowned. “Go on.”

Tilani opened her mouth, then hesitated. “Forgive me. I’m trying to figure out whose laws I should be following for this. Because you are here, I take it he died within Kirkwall?”

Cassandra leaned forward, resting her chin on her knuckles. “Yes. When was the last time you saw him?”

“Yesterday. He came to speak to me about a case.”

That lined up with what Orana had said, but it didn’t make sense. “Why would Danarius need to speak to you about business? His wife was declared dead, wasn’t she?”

Tilani gave Cassandra a forced smile. “Technically, under Tevinter law, no, but - well, he wasn’t trying to hire me. Danarius and I have never gotten along. He was trying to talk me out of taking a case.”

“He came to Kirkwall to tell you not to take a divorce case.” Cassandra didn’t think she believed Tilani.

“I didn’t say that.” Tilani wet her lips. “Are you sure I can’t offer you any refreshments? Coffee, tea? No? Well. He told me not to take the case. I told him to suck his own dick. He wasn’t very happy about that. Left here in a huff. Told me I’d never win the case - as if he could find a better lawyer versed in both Kirkwall and Tevene law before this went to court. I just hope he didn’t take his temper out on that girl who works for him before he died.”

“Your cousin had a temper, then?”

Tilani snorted. It was very strange sounding, coming from such a ladylike woman. “Let’s just say nobody was surprised when his wife went missing.”

Well. _That_ was interesting. And new. Model citizen indeed. “He was suspected of killing her?”

Tilani shook her head. “Far from it. But someone with a tempestuous spouse goes missing along with five hundred sovereigns and all of her jewelry, it’s not that hard to figure out what happened.”

Of course she’d run off. Where was she now? Why hadn’t she resurfaced at all? She might’ve contacted her family. Cassandra made a note to look into that. “Did you ever meet her? What was she like?”

“I doubt she was a killer,” Tilani replied. “She seemed… innocent. Overwhelmed by her new life. Just Danarius’ type. But it’s been years - who knows what she’s like now. ”

Of course.“Do you know of anyone who would want to kill your cousin?” she paused. “Besides the possibility of his wife.”

Tilani thought about it for a moment. “Political enemies, business rivals, family of his latest fling who was angry at how he was treating them, even his friends, if they were motivated. Take your pick.” she rose. “If that’s everything, Seeker? I need to meet with a client.”

Cassandra stood as well. “You are next of kin.”

“Not technically,” Tilani told her. “Strictly speaking, that honor still goes to his spouse. Leto was never legally declared dead. Besides, I already have nearly as much wealth as Danarius did, and am quite content with it. But I’m quite sure I can account for all of my time in the past few days, if - “

“No,” said Cassandra. “That is, I will want that information, but you mistake my meaning. Once the Seekers are finished, you will be in charge of dealing with his remains.”

“Ah.” Tilani relaxed slightly and pursed her lips, clearly thinking. “Send them to Tevinter. We’ll have them cremated and interred there.”

“Thank you,” said Cassandra. “We’ll be in touch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me right now: https://i.imgur.com/peA1qqO.png


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra meets with a contact; Fenris reaches Kirkwall; Hawke has a revelation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took so long! Every time I try to write Hawke it ends up being a custom Hawke. Woops.

 

Kirkwall was a strange city. Anyone with ambition got filtered out to Starkhaven and Ostwick, where better opportunities for power and wealth presented themselves than the rundown shambles of the aging Kirkwall. After two thousand years, Kirkwall had slowly filtered itself out, leaving behind the coffee grinds, the criminals, and the seafood.

The bar Cassandra entered now embodied Kirkwall perfectly. Two doors, one set at elf and dwarf height inside the other - Kirkwall had always had high populations of both, as well as humans. Industrial ceiling, not out of fashion, but because the owner simply didn’t put _new ceiling_ high on his priorities list. The woman cleaning the counter ignored Cassandra as she entered, calling, “We’re not open yet,” in a strange mix of accents that told of a Ferelden upbringing.

She tossed her rag behind the bar, looking Cassandra over. “You read the sign,” she said. “If you’re here for Tethras, he’s got a class. He’ll be back in two hours, if nobody asks him about his thoughts on the Anti-Surfacers and the 930s.”

Cassandra snorted; she’d managed to avoid Tethras’s lecture on why the notion that a surface dwarf couldn’t have possibly written the 938 book _Tale Of The Champion_ along with the 935 _Hard In Hightown_ was ridiculous, but only because Leliana had warned her several times. She showed the bartender first her badge, then the photograph of Vitalis.

The bartender’s eyes narrowed, looking unhappy. “I don’t talk to your kind.” she turned to go back to cleaning.

“Wait.” Cassandra said, “I’m a Seeker, not a Templar.” it was unnecessary - the woman had taken a good long look at her badge. She’d been able to read the large letters that read OCOST, not to mention the smaller print below it elaborating with _Orthodox Chantry of Orlais Seekers of Truth._

The woman rolled her eyes. “You think I don’t know that? I can tell the difference. Well, too little too fucking late. Where were you seven years ago, when Thekla got killed? Or three years ago, when an elven kid got arrested because he was trying to get Dalish citizenship because they’re the only ones who train his particular _brand_ of magic?” she put the emphasis on the word _brand_ , knowing Cassandra would pick up on the implicit message. “Oh, sorry - no, you’re here about what happened four years ago, when my sister had to join the Wardens to stay out of the Gallows, even though she’s Dalish and not under their jurisdiction.” It was only now that Cassandra noticed her slightly pointed ears, mostly hidden behind her thick, shoulder length hair. “Get _gone_ , shem. You’re only investigating now because some rich shemlen senior enchanter got killed and his family’s pissed.” She turned away again.

Cassandra sighed. She had forgotten why she hated Kirkwall. It wasn’t like Tantervale or Starkhaven, where the Chantry was widely respected. “He’s not a senior enchanter,” she said. “He was a visiting magister. People talk in the Hanged Man, and I know you listen. I thought maybe Tethras would have something.”

The woman stared at Cassandra for several moments. “A magister,” she said at last. “Why the fuck do you think I’d help you find out who killed a magister when you can’t even arrest a templar who freely admits to murder in the streets?”

“Because if it doesn’t get solved, Tevinter will use it as a reason to be angry with Kirkwall,” Cassandra replied easily.

The woman chewed her lip. “I’ll keep my ears open. What’s his name?”

Cassandra tucked the photograph away, satisfied. “Danarius Vitalis.”

“Danarius, Danarius…” the woman muttered to herself, picking up the broom. “Now where have I heard that name before?”

“If you remember, Tethras has my number.”

* * *

 

_Six years ago_

The door opened and Isabela entered, bracelets jingling with the doorbell. “Hello-o-o, Hawke!” She strode over to the bar and draped herself over it. “You’ll _never_ guess what I got from a _very_ handsome elf.” Isabela wriggled the fingers on her right hand.

Tzipporah looked and whistled quietly. Three golden serpents circled Isabela’s finger in a braid, each one holding a large diamond in its jaw. Wherever one snake crossed over another a tiny emerald nestled in the v. “What’d you do for _that_?”

“I said _yes!”_ dropping the pretense Isabela turned serious. “Shipping.”

“More of those?” Tzipporah gestured at Isabela’s hand as she got down a glass.

Isabela shook her head. “Someone wanted out of Tevinter and didn’t care where he went. I brought him all the way here to Kirkwall. Cheers,” She added, taking the rum Tzipporah handed her. She tilted her head towards the door very slightly. “He’s very shy, but there’s more where that came from.”

Tzipporah looked; an elf hovered near the door, looking nothing like someone who had large amounts of jewels. He hunched over, wearing a tired looking sweatshirt, green eyes darting out under his hood. “Think we should give him to Varric?”

Isabela shook her head. “I’ve spent three weeks with him, and he seems a better fit for Athenril to me. He doesn’t talk, and he doesn’t have any desire to please people. Varric might be helpful if he needs to _really_ disappear though.”

Satisfied, Tzipporah turned her attention to the guest. “Hey, stranger,” she called. “What can I getcha?”

He looked at her oddly, like he was deciding whether to trust someone with two heads. Given that it was 2pm and Tzipporah was offering him a drink, she couldn’t blame him. “I don’t have any money.”

Ha. A lie if Tzipporah had ever heard one. She didn’t need her magic to tell _that_. She shrugged. “I’ll put it on Isabela’s tab.”

“Hey!” Isabela protested needlessly. She didn’t _have_ a tab - she wasn’t in town enough to warrant one.

Tzipporah chuckled. “Money’s no problem.”

He drifted towards the bar eyeing the shelf behind Tzipporah. “Moscato.”

...Huh. Tzipporah wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but that wasn’t it. Wine wasn’t what most of the Hanged Man’s patrons favored, and they didn’t have much in stock. She got the bottle down and poured him a glass, leaving the bottle next to it. “What’s your name, stranger?”

He gave her that wary two-headed look again. "Fenris."

Tzipporah grinned and settle back to being her _real_ work. “Well Fenris,” she asked, “you want a job?”

* * *

 

_Today_

Hawke pulled the chairs down from the tables, thinking about the conversation with the Seeker.

The Seekers of Truth weren’t really anyone to be trusted, or even, at this point, respected. When the Circles had been re-established with the return of magic, it had quickly become clear that anyone who had studied history wasn’t going to stand for the “we investigated ourselves and found ourselves innocent” routine the Templars had previously used for abuse in the Circles.

So the Chantry had come up with this: Templars guard the Circles. If anything suspicious happens to a mage, a Seeker gets sent to investigate. Trouble was, the Chantry didn’t count death, tranquil-of-harrowed-enchanter, rape, maybe-suicide or unlawful arrest as “suspicious”, and neither did the Seekers who were usually sent to Circles.

But as soon as a millionaire magister died on foreign soil… oh, _that_ was suspicious enough to warrant a Seeker from Val Royeaux itself! Never mind the _ordinary_ mages. Just the rich, extra shemmy ones.

Danarius, Danarius….the name was like an itch in the back of her throat where she couldn’t quite scratch, bothering her constantly. She was just about to turn on the sign that said the Hanged Man was open when it hit her.

“Gods fucking dammit!”

 

* * *

 

_Seven years ago_

Tzipporah Hawke pulled up the mile long driveway to the mountain cottage.

It was tiny - a shack, really - built from wood in the Chasind style, on high stilts burned with the impressions of scales, and steps instead of the traditional ladder. Tzipporah suspected that if the owner didn’t want her here she wouldn’t have even seen the driveway.

She stepped out of the car to the sound of a shotgun cocking. An ancient Chasind woman stood on the porch, shotgun in her hands, following Tzipporah. “If you’re with the Chantry, you can turn around right now.” Her accent matched her appearance; Ferelden, backwoods, uneducated.

Tzipporah grinned, her hands up. “I know you’re expecting me, Old Mother,” she said. “Or are you like your children, keeping up the old ways? I wouldn’t be surprised to hear you still lure pyre lickers to the wild with promises of witchy girls before giving them what they asked for.”

The old woman uncocked her shotgun and cackled. “Oh, I like you. Any a’ them pyre lickers would’ve turned tail and run soon as I pulled out this. I never shoot ‘em - they ain’t got half the power they used to, there’s no point in killing when they’re no threat to me and mine. But a bit of fear does a man a great deal of good.”

“I wouldn’t’ve thought you’d have problems with them. I figured you were hidden from anyone you didn’t want.”

“Oh, I can keep most of ‘em away, when I’m in human lands,” admitted the woman. “But a few of the ones who drink blood like I do get through.” Seeing Tzipporah’s confusion she gave a wolfish grin. “You call them templars. Come in - you are here for a purpose, yes? The girl is inside.”

Tzipporah climbed the stairs. “Why are you doing this? Sending a half trained keeper to Kirkwall isn’t in your realm as mother of the world. Unless you owe Marethari?”

“Oh, this is no favor to the old cactus,” she assured Tzipporah, “Whatever she thinks. She’s blind, and sees it as such. I won’t dissuade her of that notion ‘til she’s learned. She’s forgotten too much of what she claims to remember.”

Tzipporah looked at her in awe and confusion of the old witch. Flemeth was one of the few remnants of the old world, the world with magic in abundance, that had birthed such legends as the Herald Trevelyan and the first Grey Wardens. Even further back in time - Flemeth had seen the founding of Arlathan, its siege against the ancient Tevinters, and the rise, fall, and second rise of the Dales.

There were stories of others, of course - the Heraldic writings told of godlike beings who’d slept in the Fade and awakened when there were great disturbances, to walk among mortals as tricksters. But they had been few and far between, only waking when the Blight or other catastrophes disturbed their sleep, and that was Heraldic, a religious text - Dalish histories said differently. Flemeth was here, tangible, and she’d seen everything. It was no wonder people talked about her as if she was half crazy - Tzipporah thought she’d be completely off the rails if she was that old.

The girl in the house was bent over an old book, turning the pages carefully as if she was looking for something. When she heard the door opening she looked up. Her eyes were startingly green against her light brown face, marked by the vallaslin of Dirthamen. Not many outside the Dales still used vallaslin. Tzipporah’s father had told her once that he didn’t want her getting any, that it was a bad idea to be permanently, visibly marked as elven to shemlen eyes if she could avoid it.

“Oh!” she stood up, looking at Tzipporah. “I thought you’d be Dalish.”

Tzipporah let out a breath she hadn’t realise she was holding. “My dad was Dalish,” she said. “From Lavii. But I live in Kirkwall now.”

The girl nodded, smiling. “I’m Merrill. From Sabrae…. Oh. I suppose I’m not any more.” she looked down, her smile fading.

“Don’t think that way, girl,” said Flemeth. “You’re still one of the people, and that means you have every right to clan name. You’ll do us proud.”

Merrill stared at her. Tzipporah stared too; Flemeth wasn’t known for being loose with praise.

Flemeth looked at Tzipporah, and Tzipporah got the impression that she was looking _through_ her body, into her soul. “And you, half child of Lavii, who’s come to take this First into danger. What is your name, girl?”

Tzipporah swallowed, meeting Flemeth’s sharp eye. “Tzipporah Hawke.”

Flemeth kept looking at her a moment with that odd, half amused look on her face before throwing back her head and laughing. “Oh, how the world never ceases to amuse. You redeem that name, girl, and do not let yourself be erased - let all the world fear the hawke.” She chuckled to her private joke, gesturing at the stand up mirror beside Merrill. “You should go, now - you have what you came for, yes? Now let old Flemeth to herself and her ancient jokes.”

 

* * *

 

_Today_

Cassandra smiled into her ipad. Vivienne smiled back. Comte poked his head up from his place on Vivienne’s lap and barked quietly. The pug couldn’t smile like a human could, but Cassandra was glad to see her wife’s pet.

“Darling,” Vivienne greeted her. “How is Kirkwall?”

“Abysmal,” Cassandra replied immediately. “You and Chevaliere aren’t here. How is Val Royeaux?”

“Wonderful,” Vivienne told her. “We received a save-the-date for Leliana’s wedding. It’s in Harvestmere, and I told Lucius he’s not allowed to put you on a case for all of the month. Justinia backed me up on this, so it’s definite that you’ll have the time.”

“Finally,” replied Cassandra. “They’ve been together what, eight years now?”

“Nine,” corrected Vivienne. “It was when Leliana was in Ferelden. How are things… politically in Kirkwall?”

Cassandra made a disgusted noise.

“That bad?”

“I don’t know. A lot of the stories have some basis in reality, how exaggerated they’ve been I don’t know.” she took a deep breath. “I’m not here for the templars, but every time I turn around there’s evidence of more corruption. This afternoon, a woman claimed that the templars tried to arrest multiple Dalish citizens. But I didn’t tell you this,” she added quickly. “Why?”

Vivienne sighed and hoisted Marquise, her other dog, into view in her arms. “Fiona and I were discussing the possibility of sending someone to Kirkwall ourselves. It may end up being me. Five years ago, Enchanter Thekla disappeared. Last night we discovered he disappeared because he was made Tranquil. He died two weeks later.”

“Enchanter - but - “ Cassandra froze, processing this. “That means they made a full mage Tranquil.”

“Yes.”

They were both silent for a moment, before loud barking interrupted the silence and a chocolate brown saluki crashed into view and Vivienne dropped the ipad. “Chevaliere!” she had to yell over the sound of all three dogs barking. “Chevaliere, no! Down! You _know_ you’re not supposed to be on the chair!”

Cassandra laughed.

There was a pause while Vivienne removed Chevaliere and extracted her ipad from underneath Marquise’s and Comte’s paws. “Were you letting her on the armchair?”

“No!” Cassandra denied.

Vivienne looked at her suspiciously.

“Not on the armchair,” Cassandra admitted. “On the couch. And only when you weren’t home.”

Vivienne sighed. “I don’t suppose there’s anything I can say to convince you not to.”

Cassandra shrugged helplessly.

“Cassandra, dear.... If you’re not there about the templars….”

The unspoken question hung in the air between them. “A dead magister,” Cassandra told her. “No doubt it will be all over the news tonight.”

“I see. Well as long as you’re there, Leliana would take it as a great favor if you could speak to Varric Tethras. I gather he has contacts with information about the situation with the Circle there.”

Cassandra wrinkled her nose. “I left a message for him today, since he was busy when I dropped in. His people’s ears are open - on both accounts, the one I spoke to today gave me quite the undressing about the Templars here.”

“What did she say?”

“That a Dalish citizen had to join the Grey Wardens in order to avoid them. That they refused to let an elf apply for Dalish citizenship. She hinted that they killed Thekla.”

Vivienne chewed on this. “I should go. Fiona needs to be told.”

Cassandra nodded. “I love you.” She kissed her fingertips and pressed them to her screen.

Vivienne smiled and did the same. “I love you too.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra finds a lead; Varric makes a plan; Fenris gets news.

The thing about Templars was, they tended to be the righteous type. They tended to be the sort of people who thought that what they were doing was the right thing, regardless of what that thing was. They liked to think that, being in some way blessed by the Maker, that meant whatever they were doing was condoned by Him, and therefore good. And they stuck together. 

That made investigating them harder. Cassandra didn’t like investigating the templars - the atrocities that they committed were enough to make her stomach turn, and yet so many seemed to think that they were perfectly fine. She became a Seeker to protect people, and she tried, she really did, but on days like today she wanted to give up.

The templars wouldn’t give her  _ anything _ . She’d had to strongarm Stannard into giving her the list of templars working in Kirkwall, and all that told her was who was doing what  _ officially _ . It didn’t help that she wasn’t officially here on the case of Thekla or Hawke - it was Vitalis she was supposed to be investigating, and if her superiors found out she was looking into Thekla’s case - a case nobody wanted to admit existed - Cassandra would be taken off of it. 

Still - at least she’d found  _ something _ . Vitalis’s case was proving extremely frustrating. Tilani had neither opportunity nor motive, and Vitalis had few other connections in Kirkwall. She was stuck looking back at finding the reason Vitalis was in Kirkwall. Something involving a divorce case, yes, but why? What was it that compelled him to come hundreds of miles south, to a city where he could easily be arrested?

Right now, Cassandra wanted to claw her eyes out. Cases weren’t like this - usually, a mage was attacked, they survived, helped her identify their attacker. It was about fifty-fifty whether it was a hate crime or a more normal someone-they-knew attack. Usually, mages weren’t foreign. Usually, they weren’t killed by deathroot. 

Cassandra picked up the photo on the table that was serving her as a temporary desk. It was a wedding photo, the two Vitalises wrapping their arms around each other, huge smiles on their faces. Unusual, for a magister to marry an elf. 

Where was Leto Vitalis? Cassandra was sure the case hinged on that, but she couldn’t say why. She didn’t know where Leto was, but she was pretty sure Tethras could find out. If only he would call her back.

In the meantime, she had a list of Templars to go through.

* * *

 

Hawke finished her glass of whiskey and poured herself another. Then she drank that, too. She needed to be drunk for this.

What in the void was she supposed to do?  _ She _ didn’t have any loyalty to the Seekers, but what if Varric did? That woman - Pentaghast, her badge had said - she’d come to Varric for a reason - she expected information from Varric’s people. The way Hawke saw it, that meant there were three possibilities - first, Pentaghast was blackmailing Varric. Second, Varric was feeding her bullshit. Maybe both. Third, Pentaghast had something she thought Varric would trade for information on Vitalis.

Maybe the information she had  _ was _ that Vitalis was dead, and she wanted something else that she wouldn’t talk about in front of Hawke. There was the slim, narrow chance that Varric really did trust Pentaghast, and Hawke didn’t know what that meant.

All this political bullshit made Hawke wish she was back with Athenril and her smugglers. 

“Ya know Giggles, people generally wait until after they finish their shift to get drunk.”

She’d passed tonight’s shift off to Nora, and the bar was practically empty this time of the evening, but she didn’t say that - Varric already knew, from the fact that Hawke was on the wrong side of the bar. “I got a tip.”

Varric turned serious. “Gallows?”

Hawke shook her head. “Worse. Vitalis is dead.”

Varric looked taken aback. “Well, shit.”

“Yup.” That about summed it up.

“Hares?”

“No way. They wouldn’t be this stupid. They’d wait until he won the case.”

Varric sighed, leaning forward, his eyes less wide than they had been before. “That explains the voicemail I got while I was teaching.” He pulled out his phone and dialed a number. Hawke could hear it ring on the other side until it told him to leave a message. “Maevaris, it’s Varric. Hawke told me what happened. Don’t tell Broody about this. Sooner or later the Seekers are gonna come knocking on his door. If they figure out who he is, he’ll be their top suspect, and his reaction had damn well better be real.” He hung up and turned back to Hawke. “Give me some of that whiskey. Hares gave you this?”

Hawke poured him a glass. “No. Pentaghast came in. Said she wanted to talk to you about it.”

“Pentaghast?” Varric asked. “Aw, shit. That makes this about fifty times harder. She’s one of the few Seekers that’s not corrupt. Anyone else we could persuade away from this.” By ‘persuade’ Hawke knew he meant ‘bribe’.

“So she’ll get to the bottom of it. She’ll figure out it wasn’t him.” Surely that was a good thing? Regardless of who was investigating it, someone had to pay for Vitalis’ death. If the Seekers didn’t arrest anyone, that would mean international troubles. Kirkwall, Val Royeaux, Tevinter - the churches would get involved, too. Nobody wanted that. 

Varric didn’t seem convinced. “Pentaghast’s a decent person, and she’s smart, but she’s damned straightforward. When she figures out Broody’s lying about who and where he is, she’s not gonna look for the how or why.”

Hawke groaned. She knew how it would look to Pentaghast. When she found out Leto Vitalis was living illegally in the city her husband had died in, under a new name, with a lover, she wasn’t going to see a trans man who’d escaped an abusive husband and never wanted to see that bastard again. Pentaghast was looking for a killer, and that was what she’d see.

“So,” Hawke speculated, “best way this plays out, what? Pentaghast never finds out about Fenris, - or Anders, for that matter - figures out who it is, arrests them. Poof, Troubles with Tevinter avoided?”

Varric nodded. “There’s a merry squabble up north over his fortune, Leto gets declared dead, or - even better - gets his money. Fenris buys his life here.”

“Or she doesn’t find the killer. Tevinter gets pissed at Val Royeaux, Kirkwall gets caught in the middle.” Hawke tried very hard not to think about that. “Or she arrests Fenris. What are Chantry jails like anyway? The ones that aren’t Circles, I mean.”

“For mage killers? A real bitch to get in and out of.”

“Even if we did break him out, there’d probably still be the same problem as there’d be with nobody being arrested,” said Hawke. She really didn’t want to break her best friend out of prison and see him go on the run. Again.

There was silence a moment.

“You know what I’m thinking,” said Varric.

“Yeah,” agreed Hawke. “I don’t like it, but I do.” it was a shitty idea, but if Varric thought it would work….”Just this once.”

* * *

 

There was another reason Cassandra hated working outside of Val Royeaux besides the separation from her wife: the utter tedium of investigating. Someone had once said that a bodyguard had a year of boredom and five minutes of excitement, but that they had to be ready for that excitement all year. Truth-Seeking, Cassandra found, was much the same. She had to constantly be on the lookout for any fragment of information and sort through it all to find the useful bits. It was much easier when she had other Seekers to do the legwork and help sift everything. At least Tethras had minimised it, pointing her directly to someone he thought might know about Vitalis.

And how  _ convenient _ , that he lived right here in one of Varric’s buildings.

A man opened the door. He was tall, even for a human, when she’d been expecting an elf. Thin, with a narrow face that might’ve been ander dark if he got out more in Kirkwall’s limited sun. Brown eyes, blonde hair to his shoulders, but his stubble and roots made her suspect it was bleached.

As soon as he saw her badge he ran a large hand through his hair. “Look, I swear, I went to my last hearing, and Rutherford said I could stay out, I don’t know  _ why _ my parole knight hasn’t shown up, but -”

“What?” Cassandra interrupted his babble. “Stannard didn’t send me.” She pulled out the wedding photo. “I’m here about Danarius Vitalis. Tethras said you’d know something.”

He blinked at the picture. “I think you want my roommate.” 

Cassandra grunted and waited while the man called for another. A moment later a small elven man came into view in a crumpled t shirt and ratty jeans. He had a rectangular face, light brown skin and full sleeve tattoos in black, grey and pale blue. Cassandra looked at the wedding photo again, then back at the man in front of her.


End file.
